I was hiding under your porch because I love you.

What happens is, they're hooking up in Mike's bed. Tom's on top, one hand braced next to Mike's head, one hand cupping Mike's jaw as they kiss. Mike's got his hand wrapped around both their dicks, and Tom is fucking his fist.

Mike's already panting for breath. Tom keeps kissing him, and Mike can't quite get enough air. He tips his head back and Tom's hand slips off of Mike's jaw and onto his throat.

Tom's not even pressing, it's just his hand, huge and rough, spread across Mike's throat, but Mike still comes in a shocking, breathless rush.

Tom's eyes go wide. He pulls his hand away, and before he can say anything, Mike kisses him hard, jacks him off rough and impatient, until Tom is coming all over Mike's stomach and his face goes soft and stupid and happy.

They don't talk about it afterwards. Mike is totally fine with pretending it never happened, but he thinks Tom might still be thinking about it, trying to figure it out. Tom squeezes the back of his neck more when they're making out on the couch, lets his thumb brush against the pulse point in Mike's throat, leaves a string of outrageous hickeys on Mike's neck. Which is all pretty great and Mike's not complaining about it, but it's not anything like the feeling of Tom's palm closing around his throat.

Then one day they're horsing around on the couch, wrestling over -- god, Mike doesn't even know, what to watch on TV or where to order lunch from. Mike's already half-hard, because this is the kind of thing that usually ends in blowjobs, and Tom gets him in a headlock.

Not a headlock, a real choke hold, Tom's arm a vee around his throat. Heat pours through him in a scalding rush and he's suddenly completely, achingly hard. He goes limp under Tom, because he's afraid if he struggles harder, he's going to come.

"Ha!" Tom says. He straightens his arm, rolls Mike onto his back. "I knew you were into this!"

He's grinning down at Mike, and Mike's face is hot, a weird messy twist of want and embarrassment making his stomach clench.

"I don't--what?"

"You're into being choked, right?" Tom says. He puts his hand on Mike's collarbone, not touching his throat, but close. So close. "We could do that. I googled it."

"What?" Mike says again.

"I googled how to choke someone. Sexually," Tom says, like it's not weird or freaky or shameful. His smile fades as Mike doesn't say anything. "I want to. If you're into it, then I'm, I think I could be really into it, too."

Mike swallows, feels the weight of Tom's hand on his skin. It's a terrible idea, but. But he can't stop thinking about Tom sliding his hand up just a little farther.

"Okay," he says, and he sounds hoarse already.

Tom's grin flashes again and he leans down to kiss Mike's mouth, a quick, easy press of lips. Then he sits back, all his weight on the tops of Mike's thighs. Mike's dick is tenting his sweats, his t-shirt rucked up to his chest.

Tom puts his hands on either side of Mike's throat. He doesn't cross his thumbs over Mike's windpipe. Instead he lays them along either side, careful and precise. Mike can feel his pulse pounding against Tom's hands.

Tom squeezes down and Mike's mouth drops open. It hurts, a dull, deep pain, and there's a sensation of pressure, of strain, not just in his throat but in his head, too.

Tom eases up, and everything gets brighter, clearer, sharper.

"Jerk yourself off," Tom says.

Mike shoves the waistband of his sweats down enough to free his dick. Tom squeezes down again and Mike feels it everywhere.

His hand is moving on his dick almost unconsciously. His face feels hot, flushed, for different reasons now. His eyes prickle with tears and there's a roaring in his ears.

Tom lets go. Mike drags in a breath and the rush of blood flowing back to his brain is dizzying.

"Wow," Tom says. "You look..."

Mike winces, and Tom strokes the pad of his thumb over Mike's frantic pulse.

"You look amazing," Tom says. "So fucking hot."

Mike's not sure what he'd say to that, but it doesn't matter because Tom is pressing down again.

It seems to last forever this time. Mike's mouth is open, gasping for air -- he can breathe, he knows he can breathe, it just doesn't feel like it. Tom is watching him, his eyes locked on Mike's, his face serious and intent.

Mike can feel his own pulse hammering wildly everywhere in his body. His dick is leaking precome all over his hand as he strokes himself, that desperate aching want blurring into the pressure behind his eyes, the straining tension of his muscles. Something is building up inside him, just out of reach. Grey starts to fuzz the edges of his vision.

Tom says his name.

Yeah, Mike says, or tries to. He doesn't know if he wants Tom to stop, or to keep going.

Tom stops.

The tension inside him snaps, and orgasm blazes through him. He comes in long, wet pulses over all over his hand and stomach. Everything goes white and sparkly and it feels like his head is going to float away.

"Mike," Tom says. "Mike, Mikey, hey--"

Tom is patting his cheek.

Mike blinks at him. "Hey," he says, a deep exhale.

Tom's face eases up. "Hey," he says. "How are you feeling?"

Mike is tingly all over, and every muscle in his body feels liquefied. "Good," he says. He squints at Tom. Tom's still hard, an obvious bulge in his track pants. "Oh. You want me to blow you?"

Tom smiles. "Maybe in a minute, dude. Just breathe for a little bit."

"Okay," Mike says, his eyes sinking shut. He flops a hand out and gives Tom's thigh a squeeze. "Thanks."

Tom pushes Mike's sweaty hair back off his forehead. "Anytime."

Mike swallows and feels the lingering imprint of Tom's hands. "Okay."